I tried Bevilacqua’s chambers. His Honor was gone for the day but the paralegal who picked up was someone I knew, a veteran named Linda Montrose, long assigned to family court, long past mere cynicism and into a tortoiseshell view of the world.
“Alex. Didn’t see your name on the docket.”
“Nothing pending, Linda.”
“So what’s up?”
“I’m wondering if you could do me a favor.”
“Depends on what it is.”
“The Ansar case—”
She groaned. “The paper storm? More like a used-toilet-paper storm, totally clogging up the system. Don’t tell me you’re on it, now. I thought we were full-up with shrinks.”
I said, “I’m not, this is a police matter. Someone was murdered on the property and I’ve been asked to check something out.”
“Murdered,” said Montrose. “Thatone, Beverly Hills? Paper made it sound like a gang thing.”
“It wasn’t.”
“The cops think one ofthemdid it? Oh my, wouldn’t that be cool, finally get rid of the case so we can concentrate on someone else’s misery.”
“They’re not suspects, Linda. And if you could keep this call to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”
“High intrigue,” she said. “I’mintrigued. What do you need to know?”
“If you could check when Mrs. A. left the country—”
“Don’t need to check, I’ve had to read and collate so many whiny motions that I know everything by frickin’ heart. She took off seven months ago, give or take a few days.”
“Has she ever returned?”
“Nope. The latest jokes around here have her in the desert with the kids, turning them into mini-ISIS types.”
I said, “Afghanistan is the Taliban.”
“Doctor Detail,” she said. “That’s why Big B likes you. Anything else?”
“That’s it, thanks, Linda.”
“When can I tell someone?”
“I’ll let you know the moment it goes public.”
She laughed. “Make it a momentbeforeand we’ll stay friends.”
I relayed the news to Milo.
He said, “Boom. That’s the sound of a hypothesis blowing up. Want some pie?”
“Small piece.”
“Really? You’re actually indulging? That’s a switch.”
“Why turn my nose up at fame?”
—
